Tiny Red Hearts
by Terp4Life
Summary: It's Valentine's Day, and some surprises are in store for both Jane and Kurt... both big and small. The day won't go the way they expect it to, but then again, they never do... (Yes, Oliver makes an appearance in this story, but it so very NOT about him) A "short" (4 chapter, 20K word) Jeller fic for Valentines Day, set in mid s2 when Jane and Kurt are finally on good terms again.
1. None of My Business

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)**_

 _A/N: "I'm going to write a short Valentine's Day fic," I told myself. Within seconds, of course, I had reminded myself that writing short fics is pretty much impossible for me. Despite the fact that I actively tried to keep this one short, it's going to end up being over 20,000 words. Oh well, sorry not sorry, as they say. It's broken into chapters, but I'm going to do everything I can to post them all today. Valentine's Day, of course. I hope you enjoy this story… I kind of love it, myself. Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!_

Kurt was sitting at his desk, pretending to read through the file in front of him. In reality, he was watching for Jane. He didn't want to miss her reaction to what he'd left on her desk. It was nothing, really, just a little something for Valentine's Day.

The elevator opened a minute later. As soon as he heard the ding, he looked down, glancing up carefully after he heard the doors open. It was Reade and Zapata, and he cursed under his breath. Why the hell were they there so early, anyway? He watched them walk toward their own workstations, and just as he'd expected, he saw Reade walk right by Jane's desk without a second glance, while Zapata's eyes seemed to be drawn to it as if by magnetic force.

As Kurt watched from behind the glass wall of his office, Zapata said something to Reade, who turned around, already rolling his eyes at her and walking back towards where she was standing by Jane's desk. She was motioning towards it, her movements exaggerated, while Reade just shook his head in disinterest, turning and walking away again, back towards his desk. Zapata followed him, finally, and Kurt was relieved to see that she hadn't disturbed Jane's desk, only studied it.

A few seconds later, as Reade and Zapata had settled down in their chairs, the elevator dinged again. Kurt once again glanced down, raising his eyes carefully. This time it _was_ Jane, he noted with nervous anticipation. He had also noticed that Zapata and Reade were now watching Jane to see her reaction, which, of course, wasn't quite ideal… but it couldn't be helped.

Jane reached her desk and looked at it as if she'd never seen it before. Her smile was self-conscious and a little nervous. Glancing around, she found Zapata and Reade watching her, but when her eyes went to Kurt, sitting at his desk behind the glass that separated his office from the bullpen, he appeared to be involved in whatever was in front of him.

Not knowing whether to be confused and disappointed or just plain confused by his apparent lack of attention, she sat down and stared at her desk. In front of her were ten Hershey's kisses wrapped in red foil, arranged in the shape of a heart. While she hated to spoil the effect, which was really very cute. It had been sweet of whoever had arranged them, but she couldn't exactly get any work done with them sitting there… And besides, she was getting more than a little attention from passers-by because of them, as well as Zapata and Reade, who she could feel watching her like a hawk without even looking at them – well, Zapata was watching, anyway.

After staring at the shape for another minute, smiling to herself, she pushed them into a straight line at the left side of her desk, out of her way but still sitting in front of her, so that she could go about her work.

There weren't a lot of people who would have – or could have – left them there for her. It wouldn't have been Zapata or Reade, Patterson wasn't even in yet… her most logical guess would have been Weller, though it was a little bit… over the top for him. After all, they'd only just started feeling comfortable around each other again. Yes, she'd taken a risk when she'd shown up at his place with beer a few weeks ago, and that risk seemed to have paid off. Things between them seemed to be… good. They'd talked comfortably for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, and it had been even more of a relief than she had expected, or than she'd wanted to admit to herself.

And then, of course, there'd been the revelation about Shepherd, and the night had gone back to being about work. She didn't blame him for that, of course, because the fact that Jane had found a picture of Shepherd in his high school yearbook had had chilling ramifications. He was legitimately and understandably shaken.

And yet, she couldn't help but be discouraged. After all, somehow it seemed like everything between them always turned back to work if only they waited long enough. Of course, that was how they'd met, so it really shouldn't have been a surprise. But it wasn't so much a surprise as a disappointment to her. For once, she wished that they could have had a little bit of time just for _them_ … whatever that meant. Not Jane the consultant and Agent Weller… Just _Jane and Kurt._

Since then, things had been… fine. He'd smiled at her more, spoken to her more familiarly… he was the epitome of professional, _of course_ , but there was something else in his tone and in his eyes.

 _He's finally started treating you like a human being again,_ she told herself. _Don't get yourself excited._ She knew better than to think it was anything more than that. After all, with all they'd been through, they were lucky to be on speaking terms. She couldn't let herself get her hopes up.

Besides, she'd decided just a few days before, after a conversation with Roman, to take a chance, to do something outside of what the FBI told her to do. She'd gone out with Oliver again, and it had been… _nice_. He'd hadn't held it against her for the way she'd left things abruptly between them the previous time they'd gone out, and she was grateful for that. From what she could tell, he was a genuinely good guy, and she'd had a nice time. She liked Oliver. He was…

 _Nice_? the voice in her head asked, slightly mockingly. _That would be the third time you used that word to describe him or being with him in the last minute,_ it pointed out. _Is that what you're looking for?_ _ **Nice**_ _?_

 _Well it's not like I have a ton of options,_ she reminded herself. _And he_ _ **is**_ _a nice guy. Why is that a bad thing? Am I supposed to want to go out with someone who's_ _ **not**_ _nice? Because that doesn't sound right to me._

 _If all he is is nice,_ the voice said, hesitating before continuing, _well, is that… enough?_

 _We've been out twice, we're not getting married,_ she answered herself in frustration. _It's not as though there's anyone else who's interested in me, anyway,_ she added, feeling something tug inside her chest unexpectedly.

Jane had brushed the heart shape to the side of her desk, Weller noted, and she had started working. He also noticed, as he watched the bullpen, that Zapata was still glancing at Jane now and then. It could have been because she felt like she was being scrutinized by Zapata, or maybe it was something else, but he couldn't help but think that Jane looked like she had something on her mind. Just then, his phone dinged, and when he looked down, he had a text from Patterson which read, "I've got something." Looking up, it appeared that the rest of the team had gotten the same text at the same time, because they all stood up and began making their way to her lab.

Kurt caught up with Jane in the hall, where she was walking behind Zapata and Reade. "Morning," he said, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. After all, she didn't know he'd left the chocolate on her desk, even if he felt like he should have been the most likely guess.

"Good morning," she replied, glancing at him with a small smile that, if she suspected something, gave nothing away. "Any idea what Patterson has for us?"

He shook his head, honestly having no idea what she'd found. "Nope," he replied, "your guess is as good as mine." Jane nodded, looking ahead as they neared the door and slowing behind Zapata and Reade as they waited to file through the door to the lab. He felt her glance at him once more, and wondered if he was imagining it or if she was looking at him with suspicion, but the feeling was gone in an instant, and they were inside with the others before he had another chance to wonder.

It only took a few minutes for Patterson to outline her latest findings, which related to one of the tattoos on the back of Jane's shoulder, one that was so small they'd barely noticed it until now. Zapata and Reade were being sent out to follow up on a lead, while Jane was on her way back to her desk to research a suspect and Kurt was going to reach out to a few contacts to see if he could shake out any more leads. It was all very… routine.

What Jane found when she got back to her desk, however, was very _not_ routine. Apparently in the short time that she'd been in Patterson's lab, a large bouquet of flowers had been delivered to her desk. She stopped short, several feet away, staring at it in confusion.

 _What in the world?_ she wondered.

Zapata had stopped at her desk to get her things before heading out, and she walked up beside Jane at that moment. "Wow," she said. "Who's that from?" She would have guessed Weller, except that… it didn't seem like his kind of gesture. The two of them worked together, after all, and as much as things seemed to be _maybe_ going in that direction again between the two of them, this big a gesture seemed very unlike him, especially this early.

"I don't know," Jane said hesitantly.

"Well, go find out," Zapata prodded her, dying to know the answer to this mystery before she went anywhere.

"Oh, right," Jane said self-consciously, stepping forward toward the bouquet on her desk as if it was going to bite her. Approaching it slowly, she stopped when it was just barely within arms' length, reaching up carefully, as if she really did expect it to lunge at her, and plucking the small paper envelope from the holder sticking out of the flowers.

Zapata had walked up behind her, pretending to have only the most casual interest, when really she was dying to know who had sent Jane the flowers. They were beautiful, after all.

Jane opened the card slowly, as if she was afraid to know who it was from. Or maybe she was afraid of who it _wasn't_ from…

 _What's wrong?_ the voice in her head asked. _Who do you_ _ **want**_ _it to be from? Who do you_ _ **think**_ _it's from?_

Without dignifying the voice with a response to either question, she slowly slid the small notecard out of the envelope, revealing a handwritten message. _Jane, Happy Valentine's Day. I look forward to getting to know you better. Oliver"_

Zapata, of course, was shamelessly reading over Jane's shoulder. When she read the message, her mouth dropped open. _Oliver? Who's that? And oh my God, Weller is going to flip out when he sees this._

Looking up, Zapata saw that Weller was indeed seeing this, watching carefully from behind the glass wall of his office. She'd caught him staring at Jane, and a grin spread across her face. The look on his face at that moment that she'd looked up had told her all that she needed to know. Weller was _not_ happy with this development, that much was obvious.

Turning her attention back to Jane, Zapata nudged her good naturedly in the side. "So, who's _Oliver_?" she asked teasingly. Jane, of course, turned bright red, already feeling uncomfortable without Zapata's prodding, but even more so _with_ it. She could only hope that no one else was watching, but she didn't dare look around to find out.

"Oh, he, uh… I met him at that museum gala, where we were undercover," she stammered.

"Wait, was that the guy who made that big speech? About water?" Zapata asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she remembered. He'd been a good-looking guy, Australian accent… yep, this would work out even better than she'd thought. He was definitely someone Weller would be jealous of. And judging from Weller's initial reaction, not just a little jealous.

"What? Oh, yeah, he was," Jane replied, more uncomfortable with this conversation by the minute and hoping that Zapata would get moving. Weller had told her to go with Reade to run down a lead, after all. Jane wanted nothing more than to hide the flowers under her desk and get on with her work before she had to answer any more questions. And please, _please_ , before Kurt saw them. She couldn't put her finger on why she should dread him seeing them more than anyone else… after all, it wasn't though there was anything between them. They were barely even back to being _friends_ , for goodness sake.

 _Really? We're going to pretend you don't know why you don't want him to see them?_ the voice in her head asked sarcastically. _You know you can't hide your thoughts from your own head, right?_

 _Shut up,_ Jane told the voice. _There's nothing going on with us._

 _But you wish there was,_ the voice replied with a certainty that made her squirm.

 _I do_ _ **not**_ _,_ she protested.

 _Okay, fine, you don't,_ the voice relented, in a tone that told her that it didn't for a second believe her.

Meanwhile, Zapata was still standing beside her, apparently having nowhere better to be. "So, how many times have you been out with him?" she asked, her interest now piqued.

"Oh, um, I guess… uh… twice," Jane replied, once again almost too flustered to speak. There was really no way to quantify how badly she would rather be fighting deadly bomb-wielding terrorists than Zapata's questions about Oliver just then.

 _Why are you so nervous?_ the voice in her head asked, clearly enjoying the scene just as much as Zapata appeared to be.

"Wow, that's a _lot_ of flowers for two dates," Zapata observed innocently. Jane said nothing, just nodded.

From inside his office, Weller watched the women conversing. Zapata had looked up and caught him watching, and he already knew what she'd say the next chance he got. Thankfully, he knew that even as outspoken as she was, even _she_ would do so when they were alone, and not in front of Jane – of that much he was certain. Still, even though he hated that he couldn't look away, his problem was just that. _He could not look away._ The sight of that huge bouquet of flowers on Jane's desk, knowing that someone else had sent it to her…

 _Who in the world sent her those flowers?_ he wondered in frustration. It was none of his business, he knew that absolutely for certain. They'd only recently gotten back on comfortable speaking terms, and she owed him nothing.

 _Nothing?_ he asked himself. _Really? After everything she did?_

 _We're not doing this again,_ he told himself. _She made mistakes, but her intentions were good. She's still Jane, no matter how much I wish things had happened differently… When it counts, she's on the right side. And no, she doesn't owe me anything. The two of us… it's just…_ He looked down at his desk, putting a hand up to rub his temple. It was too complicated. It always had been, really, and at this point, it was worse than complicated. It was impossible.

 _It's not impossible and you know it,_ the voice in his head insisted. _Stop making excuses._

 _Apparently she's already moved on,_ he thought, and was surprised to realize how much that thought bothered him.

 _She spends most of her time here,_ the voice reminded him. _Here… with_ _ **you**_ _. And you two have a bond that, despite everything, hasn't broken. That's not nothing, you know. Whatever is going on outside here, in her life, it can't possibly be that serious…_ _ **yet**_ _. But if you do nothing… well, not only will you never know, but maybe it will_ _ **get**_ _serious. And that will be on you._

 _Dammit,_ he thought in frustration. Looking up again, he saw Zapata saying something to Jane and then walking away, a smirk on her face, to join Reade at the elevator. He watched as Jane picked up the bouquet and pushed back her chair, looking down by her feet. She seemed to be considering putting the flowers under her desk, if he wasn't mistaken, but seemed to think better of it.

 _You could go out there and say something about them now, before she manages to hide them somewhere,_ the voice in his head suggested. _Maybe you'll get some information about where they came from… you know, just in conversation._

 _It's none of my business,_ he told the voice, despite the fact that he desperately wanted to know who had sent her the flowers. His little display of Hershey's kisses in the shape of a heart had certainly been forgotten by now. _What was I trying to do with that, anyway?_ he asked himself.

 _You were thinking that it was a cute thing to do, and it was. But it's not flowers…_ the voice said tauntingly.

 _I'm_ _ **not**_ _going out there to talk about the flowers,_ he thought, now getting frustrated.

 _Have it your way,_ the voice said, relenting, _but just be sure you're willing to deal with the consequences of doing nothing._

That was the part that got him, because he knew that whatever happened, he'd have only himself to blame. Attempting to go back over the files that he'd been trying to go through since coming back from Patterson's lab, so that he could figure out which of his contacts he should be contacting for help on the case, he found his eyes once again wandering to Jane. He was just about to look away when he saw that she had her phone pressed to her ear. Not the phone on her desk, but her cell phone. Whoever she was talking to, it was making her smile.

 _Damn, she's beautiful._

The thought was fully formed before he had a chance to stop it. Almost choking on the breath that he inhaled immediately afterwards, he looked down to try to calm his suddenly racing pulse, and to catch his breath. The glass wall of his office was both a blessing and a curse, that much was clear.

When Zapata had _finally_ decided she'd had enough fun giving Jane a hard time and gone to meet Reade, who was waiting for her impatiently by the elevator, Jane had breathed a sigh of relief. Her first thought had been what she could do with the flowers… where she could _hide_ them. Scooting back her chair, she looked under her desk. Unfortunately, there really wasn't much room under there, and the stems were insanely long. They would have hit the underside of her desk. _Besides,_ she thought, _knowing me, I'd knock them over and then have a giant puddle under my desk. That's all I need._

Instead, she replaced them on her desk, at the far end, where she liked to think they were less obvious, though she knew that she was kidding herself. With a nervous sigh, still not looking around, she picked up her phone from beside her keyboard and clicked the screen until she had Oliver's name and phone number in front of her. Taking a deep breath, she clicked _call_ , and put the phone to her ear. The ring sounded impossibly loud, and she was suddenly afraid that the entire office could hear it.

 _Calm down,_ she told herself in annoyance. _You're being paranoid._

"Hello?" Oliver's voice sounded clearly in her ear just then, after only two rings.

"Oh, uh, hi Oliver, it's Jane," she said nervously.

"Hey, Jane. How're you going?" It was an Australian expression that she'd only just come to understand meant 'How are you?' or 'How're you doing?' as opposed to being a combination of 'How are you?' and 'Where are you going?' as she'd first thought.

"Um, great, thank you… I just wanted to call and say, uh, thank you for the flowers," she told him nervously, hoping that her voice wasn't shaking as much as she _felt_ like it was. "They're beautiful."

"You're welcome," he said, sounding pleased. "I'm glad you like them."

"Yes, they're… I've never seen them put together this way before," she said, trying to cover for the fact that she didn't know what most of the flowers in the bouquet were even _called,_ despite a feeling that this was information that anyone else would probably have known. "It was a wonderful surprise, thanks."

On the other end of the line, he chuckled easily. "I'm happy to hear it," he said, sounding not at all self-conscious.

 _Which makes him the exact opposite of me right now,_ Jane thought, as she struggled to think of what to say next. "Well, I should get back to work, I just wanted to—"

"Wait, Jane," Oliver said quickly. "I know it's last second, but I was wondering… if you would have dinner with me tonight?" He sounded so uncertain, all of a sudden, and she felt badly for trying to rush him off the phone. "I mean, I know that it's Valentine's Day and it will be impossible to get a reservation anywhere fancy, but I just thought, if you don't have plans, of course…"

"I'd love to," she replied. "We just got a new case at work, so I'm not sure exactly what my day's going to be like, but if I can make it, I absolutely will." This, after all, was the honest truth. She had no idea where the day would take her, and she'd been working with the FBI long enough to know that few days actually turned out the way she expected them to – especially the ones that started out quietly, as today had so far. She knew better than to make promises that she'd just have to break.

"Fair enough," Oliver said on the other end of the phone. "I'll get back to you later, and we can see how your day's going, then?"

Jane couldn't help but smile, for several reasons. First of all, at how sweet it was that he'd asked her to go to dinner with him on a day when a date could be interpreted as _such_ a big deal. She didn't see the fuss, but she'd heard enough of the hype surrounding Valentine's Day in the past few days, and it seemed like it could be rather intense. Secondly, it was sweet of him to be so understanding about her crazy schedule. Not everyone would have been as casual about her 'sure-I'll-go-to-dinner-with-you-if-I-don't-have-to-work," response. And third, well… honestly, it was just nice to be asked out to dinner. No, it was just nice to think that she might be having dinner with another person. The last time she'd spent conversing with anyone socially outside of work who wasn't a clerk in a store where she'd stopped to pick something up had been…

Almost two weeks before, when she'd gone by Kurt's place with the beer that he liked. Of course, there was nothing that said that that couldn't happen again, and there was nothing to say that it _wouldn't_. But so far it just hadn't. Besides, it was different with Kurt. It wasn't as easy. After all, things were different with him, and so very complicated. There was too much baggage, too much between them that weighed them down… she couldn't very well expect things to just go back to the way they'd been… not after everything she'd put him though. No matter how much she might wish that they could – which she did, of course.

But wishing for something didn't make it happen, and she couldn't ask him to overlook that much. It wouldn't be fair of her. She was just grateful that they seemed to have moved past things enough to be friends.

"That sounds great. Thanks again, Oliver," she said.

"I'll talk to you later then," he replied warmly, "Have a great day."

"You, too. Bye."

"Bye, Jane."

She didn't even realized how broadly she was smiling until she accidentally looked up and caught Kurt watching her, at which point her face froze, and she suddenly felt completely ridiculous, as though she was grinning like an idiot. He nodded at her, the look on his face serious but not unfriendly, as if he was thinking about something specific. She'd seen that look on his face many times, but it didn't always seem to mean the same thing. On the contrary, she was beginning to wonder if that was the look he put on his face when he didn't want her to be able to guess what he was thinking.

Fixing her expression into a more neutral one, she smiled at him the way she usually did – a small, slightly apologetic, slightly guilty smile. Not because she'd been talking to Oliver, or because he'd sent her flowers. No, those weren't the things she felt guilty for, when it came to Kurt. She felt guilty for the way things had played out between them. For the lies she'd told him and the way she'd deceived him. That night at his apartment, she'd felt those things less, maybe because of the fact that they were outside the office. Maybe here, in this environment, they weighed more heavily on her mind. Whatever it was, the slight, guilty smile that she felt on her face now, looking up at Kurt, was a completely different one that she knew she'd been wearing when talking to – or thinking about, for that matter – Oliver, just a minute ago.

One for the past, and one for the present, she thought, and found that the thought made her sad. She didn't want to think of Kurt as her past, after all. Especially not when he was looking right at her.

 _Well, I guess you should have thought of that before you did all the things you did to ruin everything,_ the voice in her head told her. _Once again, you did this to yourself._

She managed to look away before her smile faltered, which she counted as her only victory just then, and hoped that he hadn't seen it happen. Unable to bring herself to look up again, her eyes darted to the flowers at the end of her desk. She stood up out of her chair to pluck the small envelope from the card holder, sitting back down and tucking it inside her desk drawer, out of sight. Glancing back up at her monitor, she realized that since she'd gotten back from Patterson's lab quite some time ago, so far she'd accomplished nothing – except talking to Oliver, which didn't exactly count as productive.

Sighing, she clicked her mouse to open the database she planned to use to search for more information. It was at that second, however, that the plan for the day changed completely.


	2. Better Than The Last Time

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)**_

There was a loud commotion and when she looked up, she saw Kurt tearing out of his office. "Jane, we need to go. _Now,_ " he told her, his face tight. Something was obviously very wrong. Grabbing her phone from off her desk, she stood up and followed him as they hurried to the elevator. Once inside, he looked at her and began speaking without her even needing to ask.

"Zapata just called in for backup," he began, "that lead that they went to chase down, from the tattoo that Patterson cracked… well, it was real, alright. There's a standoff happening as we speak. She didn't know how many there were, but they were armed like they were some kind of militia." Jane nodded in understanding, knowing that the likelihood of going out to dinner that night had just dropped dramatically. Of course, that didn't matter to her, not really. What did matter was getting to the scene to help the team, stopping whoever this was from doing, well, whatever they were trying to do, and making sure everyone ended up safe and alive.

There was very little information so far. It wasn't the first time, but Jane never quite understood how Kurt seemed to dive into situations like this and seem so in control. Of course, maybe he didn't really _feel_ in control. Maybe he hid it well. There were a lot of times that she wondered about what went on in his head, after all.

But this wasn't a time for idle chatter. Patterson was feeding them information through their coms as they rushed to the scene, lights and sirens blazing. The only question was whether they'd get there before or after the other reinforcements that Patterson had dispatched to help Reade and Zapata. Well, no, there was one other question, and it was a chilling one, no matter how many times she'd been in these situations with the team.

 _Will we be too late?_ That was one question that they could never know the answer to in advance, no matter how prepared they tried to be.

Thankfully, when they arrived on the scene, they weren't too late. A small army of agents arrived just behind them, and wearing vests emblazoned with 'FBI' in large yellow letters, Jane and Kurt moved in slowly, examining the perimeter and trying to find Zapata and Reade. They'd been radio silent for the past fifteen minutes, and this was worrisome indeed.

It hadn't yet been ten o'clock in the morning when they'd arrived on the scene of the disturbance, and the hours that followed both flew by and yet simultaneously dragged out until it felt as though that day had lasted for weeks. In the end, the truth unraveled, the perpetrators – seven terrorists, each from a different eastern European country, but having decided to work together in some sort of nightmare inducing international terror society – caught, it had all worked out… but not without incident. Three of the terrorists had been shot, one had died on the spot and two others were taken to the hospital, under heavy guard.

On the FBI side, four agents had been shot, as had Jane. It was "just a graze" in her side, as she insisted to everyone who reacted as one would expect to the fact that she'd been _shot_ – with dismay and concern. But her downplaying of her wound notwithstanding, the fact was that she'd been _shot_ , and there was no way in Hell Kurt was going to let her go home without going to see the doctor at the NYO, or at the very least, going to the hospital. He even told her so in exactly those words, which made things very tense between the two of them for a little while, while they both calmed down.

They were only a few feet away from each other, Jane sitting on the step on the back of the ambulance that had come to the scene, and Kurt standing nearby, where he'd walked to put some distance between them when he wanted to scream at her to stop being so stubborn. After all, just because _she_ refused to take care of herself, it didn't mean that he was going to allow her to completely blow off her health and safety. He knew that he needed to pick his battles with her, since their stubborn streaks were evenly matched, but this time he was putting his foot down.

 _If I_ _ **didn't**_ _make her go to the hospital, and her wounds were worse than everyone thought,_ he grumbled angrily in his head, _I would never… I'd just never be able to forgive myself if something happened to her._

Standing there, a few feet from her, it was as though a lightbulb suddenly went on in his head. Despite the fact that they'd moved past the events of the past few months, basically everything that had happened beginning with when Carter had abducted Jane, and everything that had come after it, this was the first time that he had a real, actual, honest to goodness moment of clarity. That he understood what she had felt more than just theoretically.

He felt lightheaded for a second as understanding took him by surprise, radiating adrenaline throughout his body. _This was how Jane felt when they said that they would kill me,_ he thought to himself. He'd _known_ that, of course, and he wasn't angry with her over it anymore. It was far from the first time he'd been frustrated with her since after they'd brought her back in after she'd escaped from the CIA, even. On the contrary, he'd been angry and/or frustrated with her for much of the first few months. Those feelings had only recently begun to _subside_ , in fact.

So what was different all of a sudden? He couldn't explain it. All he knew was that suddenly he understood completely a fraction of what Jane had gone through when Oscar he leveled the threat against him. She'd told Kurt at one point that she'd gone through with the things that Oscar had told her to do, despite the fact that she didn't want to, because she wouldn't have been able to forgive herself if Sandstorm had made good on the threat against him. Of course, the information that they had now indicated that he was the one person that they would have _spared_ , because they needed him for something… but Jane hadn't had any way to know that back then.

He closed his eyes, holding them shut for several seconds as the realization washed over him. That once again, they were the same. That once again, he understood her exactly, and what she'd been feeling. And that once again, he wished that he could have gone back and undone so many things, don't them different, done them _better_. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes again and turned to look at her as she sat on the back of the ambulance. She was sitting hunched over on the step, staring out in front of her vacantly.

She was still tense, though from what he could see, she didn't seem to have as much anger in her – at least at the surface – as she'd had a little while before, when they'd practically screamed at each other. The EMTs around them had actually felt so uncomfortable that they'd walked away in order to allow they two of them to fight with a little more "privacy," if it was possible to have privacy out in the open, with fifty or so people in the vicinity.

Slowly, he walked back over, sitting down on the step beside her, leaving as much space between them as the limited width of the step allowed. Neither of them said anything for a few minutes, simply sat and breathed the same air without fighting, which at that moment seemed like an improvement. Just before Kurt was going to break the silence, Jane patted her pocket. A familiar buzzing sound was audible, and she quickly located her phone, which was ringing on vibrate. She glanced at him apologetically, but didn't get up, holding the phone up to her ear.

"Hi, Oliver," she said, with what sounded like an extra special effort _not_ to sound as though anything was wrong, like she was trying to sound significantly more cheerful than they both felt just then.

 _Oliver?_ Kurt thought. In his mind, he scrolled through faces of people that Jane might know, who could possibly be named Oliver. _Wait,_ he thought, _hadn't she introduced him to that guy at the museum…_ His face flashed behind Kurt's eyes, as he tried his very best to retain a calm exterior. Inside, he wanted to… come to think of it, he didn't know _what_ he wanted to do. He supposed that that would depend on what she said next.

 _You know you're acting completely and utterly jealous right now, right?_ the voice in his head asked in amusement. For once he ignored it, focused on waiting Jane's next words.

After a pause, during which he imagined that she was listening to this _Oliver_ guy speaking, in that gratingly charming Australian accent of his, Jane's face softened. "Actually, today kind of went sideways in a pretty significant way," she was saying slowly. To Kurt it was obvious that she was speaking very deliberately, attempting to hide how much pain she was in. She was working even harder to hide it from Oliver than she had to hide it from _him,_ Kurt observed.

"I'm really sorry to leave you without plans on Valentine's Day, but I don't think I'm going to be able to make it tonight," Kurt heard her saying. Without thinking about her side, she shifted slightly, and he saw her immediately wince in pain as her body reminded her just how not okay she really was, after all.

 _Dammit,_ she thought, as she listened to Oliver graciously offer to take her out another night. _Why does Kurt have to be_ _ **right**_ _?_

Before he'd even had time to think about what he was doing, his hand was on her arm. She looked at him in confusion, almost as surprised as she'd been when she'd shifted and been reminded of her most recent injury. He was now conscious that his hand was on her arm, and that he should probably remove it, and yet… for some reason, he didn't.

"Okay, thanks for being so understanding, Oliver. Yes, I'm actually even more worn out than I sound, but I promise, I'm going to go home and rest… Absolutely, yes. Another night. Sounds great. Okay, you too. Bye."

She pressed the red button on her screen and lowered her phone slowly from her ear, pushing it carefully into the pocket of her vest, before turning, again in an exaggeratedly slow motion, to look at him. Suddenly, she looked exhausted.

"I'm okay, Kurt," she said quietly, looking at his hand on her arm. Feeling self-conscious about the fact that she was looking at it, he slowly pulled his hand back from her, laying it back in his lap. "I just forgot… I just can't turn quite that quickly. Or that far. Or… at all, really." She tried to laugh, but even her halfhearted attempt at laughter hurt her side, and she winced all over again. "Dammit," she whispered, closing her eyes for a few seconds to take a deep breath, willing the stinging pain in her side to subside. Once again, before she opened her eyes, she felt his hand on her arm. Somehow, it seemed to take the edge off of the sting, and she felt herself relax, finally opening her eyes again and looking at him.

"Fine," she said, wanting to be annoyed with him, but realizing that the only thing she could feel towards him just then was gratitude for the fact that his hand on her arm was helping ease the pain in her side, somehow. "You win. I'll go to the hospital. I don't suppose you'll take my word for it?"

He smiled cautiously at her then, slowly, looking at her as if he was afraid that she was going to spit venom at him, metaphorically speaking, at any time. She deserved it, she supposed, after how loudly she'd argued with him about whether or not she was going to go to the hospital and have her side looked at.

"Not for a second. I'm going to take you there myself," he replied kindly.

 _He cares about you, stupid,_ she told herself, feeling even worse than she had a moment before, but not because she'd been shot.

"I'm sorry about… before," she began quietly, figuring that she owed him at least one apology.

Shaking his head, he finally let his hand drop from her arm again. If he didn't know better, he'd have sworn that she looked disappointed when he broke contact between them, but he knew that it couldn't have been because of that. After all, things were so different between them now… it had probably made her uncomfortable enough that he'd done it twice. Maybe that was it. Maybe she'd been relieved when he'd let go, he decided.

"I realized something, a few minutes ago," he said, just as quietly as she'd apologized. He was turned as far towards her as he could while still sitting next to her, trying to look into her eyes. She turned her head to look at him them, curious. "I was so adamant about you going to the hospital, and I… I was thinking that you were being so impossible, but that I _had_ to insist on it, no matter what, because if I didn't, and it turned out that your injuries were more serious than they thought… if something happened to you, that _I_ could have prevented… that I would never have forgiven myself." By the end, he was barely whispering, staring at his hands.

She was about to reply, when he suddenly continued speaking. "And I realized, suddenly, that I was feeling a tiny fraction of what you felt… _before_ , when Oscar said…" He bit the inside of his lip, breathing slowly and deliberately.

It was as though something between them suddenly thawed, as though a barrier than they hadn't been able to see, but had still been there nonetheless, despite their improving relations, suddenly disappeared at that moment.

When she realized what he was saying, she felt an ache in her chest. "When he told me that they'd kill you, if I didn't do what they wanted? And that I would do whatever I had to do, because I could never have forgiven myself if something had happened to you that I could have prevented?" she asked quietly, to which he could only nod sadly. She'd known what was in his head, and it seemed like the least she could do was to supply the words that he was having trouble saying. After everything they'd been through together, that was one of the smallest things she could do for him.

"Yeah," he replied, again in less than a whisper. He felt pressure building behind his eyes, and he wondered how much of it was stress and exhaustion, and how much of it was actually about the current conversation. It almost didn't matter.

Now her face was pained all over again, but for a different reason, as the memories of then mixed with the emotions of the present. Once again, like it always was with them, it was all too much.

"Do you think it'll ever get easier?" she asked, and he swore there was something desperate in her voice as he looked up at her in surprise. Seeing his confusion, she added simply, " _This_ … The… two of us."

Smiling sadly, he nodded almost imperceptibly. "I think it already has," he said. "Slowly, I'll admit, but…" He trailed off, unable to find any other words to express what he was feeling. He couldn't even figure out _what_ he was feeling, really. Suddenly he had the urge to reach out to her, to put his hand on her arm, as he had a few minutes before, or the way he would have back at the beginning… when things had seemed so easy between them. Well, it hadn't seemed that way at the time, but looking back now… it _had_ been easy. They just hadn't realized it back then.

Neither of them spoke for a minute, both of them lost in thought. Unbeknownst to them, they were both thinking almost the same thing – wishing for what they had had before, but thinking that, surely, it was simply too complicated.

"We should get you to the hospital to get checked out," he said finally, "so that you can get it over with, then go home and rest." When she nodded slowly, still staring forward, he added, "Sorry that your, uh, dinner plans…"

She turned carefully to look at him, finally putting together the fact that he'd been sitting beside her when she'd talked to Oliver and told him that she wouldn't be able to go to dinner with him. For some reason, she felt… _uncomfortable_ about the fact that he knew that she'd had plans with Oliver, and doubly uncomfortable because it was Valentine's Day.

Shrugging, and trying to act as casually as possible, she looked away again. "No big deal," she said. "It's just a day like any other." _When I'll end up staring at the walls of my safe house alone,_ she added in her head. Really, the thing she'd most been looking forward to was having company. Oliver seemed like a nice enough guy. Being around him was certainly nicer than sitting at home alone.

Willing herself not to open her mouth again until the urge to admit this particular fact – that really, she just liked the idea of not being at home, alone – had passed, she had to clamp her mouth shut. In front of her, he stood up slowly, evidence of his own stiffness after the stand-off they had all been through. He hadn't been injured, like she had, but he was still going to be sore for a few days. Stepping to his right, he now stood in front of her, offering her his hand and then very slowly, attempting to help her up. Watching her wince as she tried unsuccessfully to stand, even with her hand in his, he realized that she needed more support than he'd thought.

"Are you _sure_ you're okay?" he asked skeptically. He was beginning to realize that once again, this was just Jane being Jane, refusing to admit that she needed help even when it was blatantly obvious that this was the case.

"I'm _fine_ ," she insisted stubbornly, at which he rolled his eyes.

"Really?" he asked. "Then stand up." He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest, looking at her defiantly.

He was trying to prove his point and she knew it. It was pretty obvious that he didn't actually expect her to be able to get up on her own. His goal was to force her to admit that she needed help – _his_ help – and she hated it. Narrowing her eyes at him, she swallowed hard.

 _If looks could kill,_ he thought, very glad that they couldn't.

"Shut up," she told him, now looking defeated and, he thought, utterly miserable.

His face softened and he moved closer to her, dropping his arms to his sides. She hadn't admitted out loud that she needed help, but he considered it close enough. At least now she wouldn't fight him.

"Come on," he said, stepping to the side where she'd been shot, her left, and winding his arm around her back so that he could hold onto her wait on her right, then, as gently as possible, he helped lift her upwards until she was standing. They walked slowly, and he noticed that she winced with every step.

"So it was just a graze?" he asked, less and less certain that she'd been telling the truth with every step. She sighed heavily, and suddenly stopped walking. He felt her pull him to a stop, and followed her lead. It made sense that she would need a break, as much effort as she was expending just to walk.

"Hey," he said, still holding her up, but looking over his shoulder at her, and then waiting until she slowly turned to look at him. "You know there's no prize for being the one who most stubborn refuses help, right?" he told her.

"I need to be able to be independent," she said insistently.

"Okay," he replied evenly. "Why?"

Surprised by his question, it took her a minute to reply. "Because…" she said, feeling her strength drain out of her. "Having to rely on other people makes me too dependent on them. And then when... things happen…" She didn't finish her sentence, but she got the feeling that she'd made her point. As a matter of fact, she wished he'd never pursued this line of questioning, because suddenly she felt like she'd said too much, like she'd crossed a line somewhere.

 _I wish I knew_ _ **where**_ _the lines were with us,_ she thought sadly.

It made him sad that she still felt that way, like she had to protect herself from everyone and everything, but he knew that it shouldn't surprise him. Things were better between them, and they were rebuilding their trust, but she probably still felt like deep down, she was in it all alone. He hated it, but he understood it. If only he knew how to _fix it._

"So… you're hating this right now, then?" he asked curiously.

Somehow it was only then that she realized how close he was standing, and how tightly he was holding onto her to keep her upright. Her emotions were bubbling over again, to her dismay, but she knew why. She was exhausted, she was sore, she'd just had a really, really long and not especially great day. She'd been _shot_ for heaven's sake, and it was pretty safe to say that any day when you got shot, you were allowed to consider that a bad day.

And yet, as much as she hadn't wanted to admit that she'd needed help, as much as she'd hated the _idea_ that she needed his help, now that she was here… Yes, she wished that she didn't _need_ his help. But this? Standing this close to him, feeling him holding her up? It reminded her so much of the beginning, back before the lies had started, before she'd made all of those unforgiveable mistakes… Back when he would hold onto her like this to provide her a different kind of support all those times when she'd been about to break down.

It couldn't be like that anymore, and she _knew_ that, but standing here this way, reminding herself of that… well, it hurt. She could harden herself against the knowledge, build up her walls, but when he was literally as close as he could be to her, like he was just then… well, those walls did almost nothing to protect her heart.

 _But why does it have to be too complicated?_ the voice in her head asked insistently. _Who's to say that it can't be that way again? Maybe you're both past it now._

 _It's impossible,_ she told herself.

 _Or,_ the voice said, not letting up, _you're afraid to find out._

"Not… _hating_ it. I just…" She sighed in exasperation, wishing she could explain it the way that it made sense in her head. "I hate the fact that I need help. I hate that I can't do it myself. It makes me feel…" She debated whether or not to say it. If he'd been two feet away from her, she wouldn't have, she knew. But their faces were less than a foot apart, and his arm was around her waist, and she was overwhelmed by a sense of what might have been… and it was just too strong. She simply couldn't fight it any longer.

"It makes me feel weak," she whispered.

He wanted to turn and face her, but he needed to hold her up, and he couldn't hold onto the side with the gunshot wound, so he was afraid to shift positions. And so he continued to look at her over his shoulder, hoping that he could impart the seriousness of what he wanted to say so that she understood how very much he meant it without being able to look her straight in the eyes.

"Jane, look at me," he said quietly but insistently. "I know you, probably better than anyone." He'd expected her to flinch at those words, but he'd said them anyway. After all, it was the truth. Whether she liked it or not, he _did_ know her better than anyone else.

 _Better than Oliver_ , he thought, noticing that the other man's name was dripping with a strange, almost venomous feeling, even in his head.

 _Focus,_ he told himself.

"If there is one word that does _not_ describe you, that has _never_ described you, it's _weak_. You have never once been weak, in all the time that you have been Jane. Fragile maybe, but so incredibly strong… I don't know if you just can't see it, or you just don't _want_ to see it… but you've never been weak."

She'd kept her eyes on him, but now she looked away. "Depending on other people… that's what it does. It makes you weak. Shepherd was right to train it out of me."

" _No_ ," he said, more emphatically than he'd intended. "Depending on other people makes you _human_. And Shepherd didn't train it out of _you…_ She trained it out of Remi. _You are not Remi. And you are not weak._ "

He sighed then, wondering if she was ever going to believe any of these things… if she was ever going to let herself believe in any of the good in her, the way he did. He hadn't even realized that he felt this strongly about it until now.

He could tell that the strain of this conversation, on top of her injury and the day they'd had, was quickly wearing her out. To be honest, he was starting to feel tired himself. She didn't answer, just stared off into space somewhere, not letting him see the expression on her face.

"Come on," he said, "let's get to the car."

Once again, she sighed heavily, but this time closing her eyes and letting her head fall against his shoulder. She was just exhausted, mentally and physically, and she didn't want to take another step.

He felt her lean more heavily against him, and he braced himself to compensate. "Just a little farther, okay? And then you can rest," he whispered, leaning his cheek against the top of her head without realizing that that was what he was doing. Clearly, this situation was making them fall into old habits. There was no way she would've wanted him doing that, and for his own sanity, he knew that he shouldn't be doing it. It was just going to hurt too much, later, when he wanted to do it again, and he knew it. And yet… he let his head rest against hers for a few more seconds before forcing himself to move.

"We walk, or I carry you," he said warningly.

 _Being carried doesn't sound too bad,_ she thought, and was immediately slightly horrified with herself for even considering it as an option. There was no way she was letting that happen. Needing him to help her was bad enough, after all.

Lifting her head off of his shoulder, she felt a renewed determination to make it to the car on her own two feet, even if those feet were being helped by Kurt. "Fine," she mumbled, "let's go."

They walked the rest of the way to the car in silence, finally making it just before Jane began to wonder if she actually would have to take him up on being carried after all. He opened the passenger side door for her, helping her inside and then jogging back around to his side and jumping in beside her.

"Now give me that," he told her gently, taking the end of the seatbelt, which she'd been trying to buckle on her own. The problem was, she ended up wincing every time she got close to getting it buckled, because the mechanism was so near the gaping, though neatly taped, wound in her side. She sighed, surrendering the end of the buckle to him, as he leaned closer to her to pull extra slack so that he could buckle her in without causing her any more than the most unavoidable pain to her side.

She winced when he slowly got the buckle in place, but there was nothing to be done about that. "Are you okay?" he asked. She turned her head slowly to look at him, feeling more and more tired, leaning her left cheek against the back of her seat.

"Are you kidding?" she asked, with what he could hear was great effort. "This is so much better than the last time I got shot in the side."

She watched him for his reaction, and was met with a look of slight horror on his face as he realized what she was talking about. The first thing they'd done when she'd come back had been to get herself back into Sandstorm. Having been shot had been the only way to convince them that she'd been held by Cade, and that she'd narrowly escaped. It had been her own idea, after all. Well, it had been her idea for _Kurt_ to shoot her. Zapata had done it for him, and with slightly alarming ease.

"That time, everyone _hated_ me, I had to get shot and then _drive myself_ , bleeding,to Sandstorm… I had to go in there, knowing I was risking my life to infiltrate them, I had to convincing them not to kill me, all with a gunshot wound in my side…" She smiled at him sadly, and he could feel his heart breaking at his memories of that time. He'd been in a very dark place back then. It pained him to have to admit it, but at the time, he had hated her.

"At least this time, I don't have to drive myself to a rendezvous point, and I wasn't shot by someone who's supposed to be on _my_ side."

"There's more than that that's different this time, Jane," he said quietly. She nodded at him, but he could see that she didn't believe him, that she was just humoring him.

"We going to the hospital or what, Weller?" she asked, trying to change the subject. He didn't believe for a second that she was that impatient to get there, because she hadn't wanted to go there in the first place. If it was up to her, she'd be going straight home, probably in a cab and insisting that she was perfectly fine. Which, of course, she was clearly _not_. He wondered if they would keep her overnight in the hospital.

With that thought in mind, he shook his head, looking back over at her for a few seconds longer than he meant to, before finally replying. "You got it, boss," he told her, which he was happy to see made her smile. It seemed like the least he could do.


	3. Wishing

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)**_

The drive to the hospital was about fifteen minutes, but Jane was asleep in less than two. When they arrived, Kurt pulled up to the curb and went to flag down someone with a wheelchair, so that he didn't need to repeat the ordeal of making her walk any farther than necessary. Not because he didn't want an excuse to have her that close, because that certainly hadn't been a problem for him. Well, it would _be_ a problem later, when his mind screamed at him to do it again… but he wasn't thinking about that just then. No, it wasn't a problem for him at the present. But asking Jane to walk any farther at that moment seemed cruel, so he went off in search of a wheelchair.

Jane woke up slowly, sitting in the passenger seat of Kurt's SUV outside the hospital. Almost immediately, she had a flashback, and looked around in concern. The same thing had happened to her when Roman had brought her to a hospital – a different one, though, she thought, after she'd been shot the previous time. He'd pulled up to the curb and left Jane sleeping in the car, only to wander off after a wheelchair. If a police officer walked up and asked her if she needed help, well, that would have completed the flashback.

No police officer appeared, however, and the good thing was that this time she hadn't done anything wrong, wasn't in danger or avoiding the police or attempting to do anything except get medical attention for a real wound. She didn't have anything to be afraid of. On the contrary, she was there with Kurt, and she knew that he would do all of the worrying about her _for_ her – and then some. She smiled at the silliness of the thought, but it was the truth.

When she saw Kurt walking back toward the car, a harried looking nurse pushing a wheelchair trailing behind him, she couldn't help but smile. He'd had that effect on her for a long time, and then for a while it had seemed to be the opposite. For a while their being in the same room together had been agonizing. Now that things between them were good again, the fact that they could be near each other again felt almost too good to be true. She was in more and more pain at the moment, and she wondered if that was contributing to just how very glad she was to see him walking towards her.

The two stopped outside the door and Kurt pulled it open, stepping towards Jane to help her with her seatbelt as the nurse stayed a few feet back, ready and waiting to be of assistance.

"Turn this way," he said softly. Even though he'd spoken to her gently on the way to the car, and as he'd helped her in, and many times before that in the time she'd known him as well, she was surprised yet again how gentle his voice could be. It seemed so opposite of the persona that he presented to the world the rest of the time.

Turning slowly, she winced as she shifted herself to face him. Pain was inevitable just then, she knew, until she got some painkillers in her. Finally she was looking at him, wishing that she could wave a magic wand and be in the wheelchair. She couldn't of course, so she simply attempted to move herself forward across the seat, toward Kurt.

"Easy, easy," he said calmly, trying to convince her not to go too fast. Reaching up towards her, the look on his face was apologetic as he grasped her gently, and only slightly awkwardly under her arms, since one side of her waist wasn't enough with which to support her. "Okay, now, slowly," he told her, tugging her gently forward, towards him. She moved herself as gradually as she could while still moving, finding the task much easier with his assistance.

As she stepped forward out of the SUV, putting her weight on her feet once again, he stepped back about half as far as she expected him to, meaning that she was firmly within his personal space – or that he was in hers. It was hard to tell, after all. Really, it was both at once. He kept his hands where they were, turning slowly to line her up with the wheelchair that the nurse had ready and waiting. Finally they made it, and she was sitting down once more.

"I'll make sure she gets inside, sir, if you want to move your car," the nurse told him.

Kurt was torn. _Of course_ he didn't like this idea one bit, but even as an FBI agent, he understood that he simply couldn't park wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. After everything that had happened with Mayfair, Daylight, Nas, Omaha… he wasn't about to start abusing his power, and especially not over something as trivial as parking.

Jane was watching him carefully, and she knew what he was thinking. "Kurt, I'm fine," she assured him. "You don't even need to stay—" The look he shot her when she said that was murderous, and now it was her turn to be glad that looks couldn't actually kill. "Alright, alright, I won't try to talk you out of staying, but go move your car. I'm fine. I'll start the paperwork, which will probably take all night anyway." The sky was already dark, though Kurt wasn't actually sure what time it was, but still, the thought of Jane sitting alone filling out paper work was unsettling to him.

"I'll be right back," he assured her quickly, running around to the other side of the car and climbing in as the nurse turned her wheelchair around.

"Husband?" the nurse asked curiously.

"What?" Jane asked in surprise, before realizing that she was referring to Kurt. "Oh, no," she replied quickly, feeling her face flush.

"Boyfriend, then?" the woman asked from behind her.

"No, actually," Jane replied quickly.

"You're kidding me, right?" the nurse asked her in surprise.

"No, I'm serious," Jane replied, now a bit confused. _What in the world was she suggesting? That they seemed like a couple?_ Jane didn't think they'd done anything too couple-y…

"Oh, honey, that man is so clearly in love with you…" the nurse went on as they walked through the entrance, the glass doors parting as they walked through, into the noise and chaos of the main lobby.

"No, really, there's no way—" Jane was saying, but this nurse was simply not having any of the explanation that Jane may have wanted to give her.

"Sweetie, I've been at this job a _long_ time. I've seen all manner of people come through here, in all kind of shape and in all kinds of relationships. And trust me when I tell you, that man is in love with you." She handed Jane a clipboard and a pen, and smiled down at her kindly. "I'm going to leave you right here. When you're done with the paperwork, it goes to someone at this desk right beside you… But I'm going to bet that that nice man that brought you in here today will be over her beside you before I can get myself through those doors again, so you'll be just fine." The woman smiled kindly at Jane once again, before adding, "Happy Valentine's Day, honey. Maybe just give him a little time to figure it all out… men are a little slow on these things. He'll get there. That much I can guarantee."

"Thank you," was all Jane was able to choke out, and just like that, the woman was gone. As she disappeared back out the front doors to, as Jane could only assume, help someone else who was being admitted, Jane couldn't help but smile – because Kurt was walking in, passing the same nurse who had just predicted that he would do just that, as he walked through the glass doors. She had been right.

 _What else was she right about?_ Jane wondered.

"Hey," he said, walking over to her and stopped close beside her to look over her shoulder at the paper that she had yet to start filling out. "Need help with that?"

Jane just shook her head. "Not yet," she said, smiling at his concern. "She'd just handed me the clipboard before you walked in. Did you sprint front the parking lot, or something?" When he didn't answer right away, she couldn't help but laugh out loud, especially when she swore she saw him blushing under the scruff on his face, though he held his expression steady.

"Of course not," he replied, as if he simply expected her to believe him.

Shaking her head, she said, "Why don't you steer me over there, by that chair, so that you can sit down, too? Who knows how long the wait will be, after all."

He certainly couldn't argue with that logic, suddenly feeling very, very tired. "Smart, very smart," he told her, leaning over to hold the handles on the wheelchair as he pushed her towards the vacant chair, only hoping it would still be vacant when they got there. It was, and he pulled her wheelchair up alongside it, making sure that there was still enough space for people to walk by on the other side before collapsing into it, his elbows balanced against his knees.

Once she'd finished filling out the paperwork and he'd walked it back up to the desk, he sat back down next to her and the waiting began in earnest. "Hey," she said, suddenly focusing on the fact that it was Valentine's Day, "I hope I didn't spoil any Valentine's Day plans for _you_." After all, he already knew that she had had plans of her own, so what could it hurt to tell his this? It's not as thought he'd need to feel self-conscious when she'd been the one to admit it first, after all.

"Nope," he shrugged. "No plans."

"Really?" she asked, realizing too late just how shocked she sounded. _Calm down,_ she told herself. _It's none of your business, anyway._

He just shrugged again, looking straight ahead, then suddenly he seemed to straighten up. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought that he'd suddenly decided, a minute too late, to pretend that it wasn't a big deal. "You know," he said, again just a little too brightly. "I guess I'm still too choosy."

His words echoed in her head once, twice, three times… Suddenly it was all she could hear. She couldn't help but think back to the other time that he'd uttered them. Back a million years ago, when the world had made sense. And by _when the world had made sense,_ she meant the first time they'd gone undercover together and spent a day almost getting killed… and yet, she remembered that day more fondly than almost any other in her memory.

She focused her eyes forward, suddenly unable to look at him. That day had been… magical. So much so that now, after everything that had happened, it was painful to think about that day, because it had felt so perfect. Yes, they'd been in very real danger, and yet, it hadn't mattered. That had been the first time they'd proven what an unstoppable force they were as a team. It hadn't been just that, of course. They'd also been able to blend their covers with their realities, and how they had felt about each other even back then. Because it hadn't _all_ been an act, that much she knew.

 _Some things haven't changed_ , she thought sadly. _As much as I wish I could make them._

As he watched her, he couldn't help but feel like he'd said something wrong. He'd been trying to lighten things between them by referring back to something that he knew that she'd remember, to a happy memory from their shared past… and yet somehow, it seemed to have backfired on him. Really, he wasn't sure exactly what had just happened, only that suddenly she was staring across the lobby blankly, and he was beside her, wishing he could fix whatever had just gone so wrong. It seemed like he'd spent a lot of time in the last few months wishing for things that he knew he couldn't have.

They sat for a while in silence, the chaos of the lobby swirling around them, neither of them knowing quite what to say. At one point Jane almost told him again that he didn't need to wait there with her, and that he should go home, but she had a feeling she knew what his reaction would be, so she didn't bother. The nurse's words were still rolling around in her head, sliding into the background and then coming back to the forefront without warning again and again. _"Oh honey, that man is so clearly in love with you,"_ she heard the woman saying over and over. But it was impossible. Absolutely impossible. Because…

Why was it impossible again?

Right. It was simply too complicated. _Too much_. They'd missed their chance and now things were just a mess.

 _Are you sure?_ the voice in her head asked her curiously once again.

 _Stop it,_ she begged herself. _I can't go through it again. We're just starting to be able to be in the same room together for more than a few minutes without it being awkward._

She was thankful when the voice in her head said nothing else, and she was able to relax slightly. Not too long after that, a nurse in blue scrubs called her name, and Kurt stood up, stepping around behind her to grasp the handles of the wheelchair. Suddenly she was rolling along smoothly, and in another minute, the noisy waiting room was only a memory.

After the triage room, they were eventually shown to what could be described somewhat generously as a cubby, if you could accept the fact that the "walls" were curtains. It certainly _felt_ as though they were inside something the size of a cubby, that much was for sure. The nurse that had shown them to the cubby had helped Jane onto the bed – more of a cot, really – and Kurt sat crammed into the only chair, which was small and hard and pushed right up against the bed because there was simply no other place for it to be. They waited there for what felt like an eternity.

"Tell me again why we didn't go to the FBI doctors, back at the NYO," Kurt said, his eyes closed, his head in his hands, his elbows leaned against his knees as he tried not to fall asleep sitting up. He didn't know what time it was, and he didn't bother to check. It wouldn't change anything, after all.

He heard her sigh beside him, and then heard her shift slightly, only to hear her immediately gasp in pain. His eyes shot open and he caught the sheepish look on her face. "Because I'm stubborn to the point of stupidity and apparently getting shot wasn't enough punishment for one day," she said, closing her eyes and leaning back, trying not to move. She didn't think she'd ever been so desperate for painkillers. Pain may have been a dream, but this dream was pretty bad… and she'd be a hell of a lot less grumpy if she could be in less pain.

"Awww, don't be so hard on yourself," he told her sincerely, "You're the _perfect_ amount of stubborn. Absolutely no stupidity involved."

"If I didn't think it would make me feel like my side was on fire, I would lean over there and punch you," she told him calmly, her eyes still closed, as she tried to remain perfectly still.

"I can help you with that," he told her, scooting himself off the chair and perching on the side of her cot. At the noise of his movement, she opened her eyes slowly, and was surprised when she saw him there, so close to her.

"Punch away," he told her, which of course made her lose the urge to punch with him whatsoever.

"But that takes all the fun out of it," she sighed.

"Well then how about this? The next time you're up and around, you can punch me then," he countered, hoping to make her smile.

He got his wish, and her face filled with a grin that was all the reward he wanted. "Sounds good," she said, her eyes drifting closed again. She jerked them open a few seconds later, realizing that she'd been falling asleep. Looking at him there at that moment, she wondered how in the world he'd even been allowed back there with her in the first place. She hadn't heard him try to pose as her husband, though it seemed like something that, given his current state of mind, she could imagine him attempting… but the thing was, she was fairly sure that he _hadn't_.

Just then, the nurse's words floated through her head again. _"Oh, honey, that man is so clearly in love with you."_ But she'd specifically told that nurse that they _weren't_ in a relationship… It didn't make sense. But then again, she was so deliriously tired just then, _nothing_ made sense. She was too tired to wonder about it, she was just glad that he was there.

"Kurt, it's late, you should go home and get some sleep," she told him.

She heard his heavy sigh then, and a slight chuckle as he asked her softly, "Jane, when are you going to get it through your head that I'm _not_ leaving? I don't _want_ to leave you here by yourself. I want to be right where I am, where I can see that you're okay. Nowhere else." He was precariously balanced on the edge of the cot, and she scooted herself back slowly, as much as she was able to, to give him just a little more room.

"I… I don't…" she stammered, suddenly completely confused. _He… what?_

But he just smiled at her as though what he'd said had been the most obvious, ordinary thing in the world, like it had been absolutely no big deal at all. After that, neither of them spoke. It was awkward, at least Jane thought so, and she just didn't know anymore. It could have been her mind playing tricks on her. It could have been the exhaustion talking. Or that pesky wound in her side. Who could really say? But it seemed safer not to say anything else, as long as she was partially delirious.

Kurt sat perched on the edge of her bed for what felt like hours. At some point, he simply reached over and took her hand, holding it in his as if that was something that happened normally. It wasn't, of course, but she said nothing. Quite honestly, the sensation was so comforting – her hand in his – and she remembered it from the few other times that they had held hands. She was so tired, so overwhelmed, and in _pain_ , for goodness sake… and so she said nothing, not wanting to do anything that would make him change his mind, she simply smiled at him tiredly and squeezed his hand. It wasn't any kind of grand gesture, but the fact was that he was _there_ , and he had proven that he knew what she needed better than she knew it herself. The 'how,' really, was unimportant.

It was the middle of the night when the doctor finally examined Jane, and decided, based on how weak she was, that she should be admitted for twelve hours of observation. As they were shuffled from the ER to Jane's new room, in which there was another patient, but who was asleep at that time, it was discovered that Kurt, as a non-relative, really shouldn't have been back there with her all that time. He was told that he would have to wait in the waiting room, to which he nodded tiredly, because what else could he do?

However, before he allowed the brunette, no-nonsense nurse to show him to the waiting room, he bent down over Jane, who was now laying in an actual bed. He took her hand as he leaned down to speak into her ear, whispering simply, "Happy Valentine's Day. I'll see you in the morning." One more squeeze of her hand and he was letting go, then allowing the nurse who had been nice enough not to call security on him to show him out. Pausing at the door, he looked back at her over his shoulder, smiling that same smile that he used to smile at her, back at the beginning. The one that only _she_ ever got from him.

She hadn't realized how much she had missed that smile until that moment.

They weren't anything to each other… so why did she suddenly feel so…

No, the better, more immediate question was ' _What in the world was she even feeling?' Why_ she felt it was almost secondary.

 _Almost._

 _That's not true,_ the voice in her head reminded her. _You were_ _ **never '**_ _nothing' to each other. And whatever you are may be complicated – and from the way today has gone, I'd say it's even more complicated than you thought – but you were never nothing to each other. It seems likelier than you were closer to_ _ **everything**_ _… and that was why it hurt so much when it all came crashing down._

He had watched her carefully as he stepped back, noting the slow change in her expression as she processed his words and his actions. For a second he wondered if maybe he shouldn't have done what he'd done. But when, as he looked back at her over his shoulder, he saw her confusion slowly give way to a smile, no matter that it was a small one, his insecurity evaporated. If it had made her smile, then it had been worth it, plain and simple.

Realizing that she hadn't said anything to him, she whispered, "Good night," as he disappeared around the corner. She fell asleep soon afterwards, now the beneficiary of some very helpful pain medication and a bed that, while not the one she was used to, was the most comfortable thing she'd sat on in almost twenty four hours.

The waiting room had clearly not been designed with overnight waiting in mind and, with only a few other people at the far end of the long room, Kurt laid down across several chairs in an attempt to get even a little bit of sleep. He'd been pushing it lately, as far as working all hours of the day and night as it was, and he was pretty much at his limit. As he tried to find a comfortable position across chairs that had absolutely _not_ been designed for the purpose for which he was using them, his thoughts were filled with Jane. He'd watched her get shot that day, and he didn't think he'd ever forget the helpless, desperate feeling of seeing her fall to the ground. She'd been wearing a vest of course, but they weren't foolproof. They didn't offer 100% protection.

 _At least she's alive, and she's going to be fine,_ he reminded himself. Even knowing this, and the fact that she was _in the hospital, for goodness sake_ , he still had a hard time calming himself down without her there in front of his eyes, so that he could see for himself that she was breathing. He supposed that after coming so close to losing her more than a few times since they'd met, his reaction wasn't all that surprising.

But it surprised _him_. No, of course he didn't want anything to happen to her. That wasn't the part that surprised him. He took the safety of his team very seriously. What surprised him was just _how_ strong all of his reactions had been to anything Jane-related that day. Not only to her being shot. To her trying to refuse to go to the hospital. To finding out that she had to cancel a _date_ because of her injury. _A date_. He felt flustered all over again just thinking about it.

 _Why should that upset you?_ the voice in his head asked him. _You don't want to date her…_

 _Or do you?_

His eyes snapped open, and he stared at the chairs on the other side of the waiting room in disbelief. They'd hung out together, talking like friends the way they once had, a few weeks back. It had been the night that Jane had identified Shepherd in one of his old yearbooks, when they'd learned just how deep _his_ connection to Sandstorm ran. After that, they'd gone back into work mode and things had just seemed to… _stay that way_ in the weeks since then. Not because they hadn't wanted to pursue their friendship, but it just seemed like the days melted into each other without permission, and now two weeks – or something close to it – had gone by without them having had another chance like the one they'd had that night. To sit and talk and drink and just… be friends.

He sat up wearily, realizing that he was not going to fall asleep that night, at least not there on those uncomfortable chairs. Jane, he knew, would tell him to go home and get some sleep. She probably assumed that that was exactly what he'd _done_ , despite the fact that he'd told her in no uncertain terms that he was _not_ going to do it. After all, it was the logical thing to do.

 _But when did you ever behave logically when it came to Jane? Pretty much never,_ the voice in his head reminded him. It wouldn't do him any good to deny that, and he knew it. Mayfair had seen it, and yet for some reason she'd chosen to overlook it. _How differently would things have ended up if she'd removed him as lead agent and assigned someone else to Jane's case?_ he wondered.

Rubbing his eyes, he tried to let the sound of the TV in the far corner of the room drown out his thoughts. It had already been a long night, and it was not over. Not by far.

Jane was awakened periodically by strange noises outside her room, and she had to constantly remind herself that she was in the hospital, and that it was normal. Then again, she'd survived a shoot-out with criminals in a hospital not long after she'd come out of that bag… so she felt justified in her paranoia, even though she had a feeling that Kurt hadn't gone any farther than the waiting room. The knowledge that he was there was comforting, though she wished that he'd been allowed to remain by her side. Come to think of it, it had surprised her just how disappointed she'd felt when the nurse had told her that Kurt couldn't stay by her side.

 _What does that mean?_ she wondered.

 _You know_ _ **exactly**_ _what it means,_ the voice in her head replied evenly. _It means that the feelings are still there._

Sighing sadly, she wished that she could make them go away. These feelings would only cause her pain, and she knew it.

Closing her eyes once again, she attempted to go back to sleep. It wasn't as easy now that she was less exhausted, and she was fairly sure that her painkillers were beginning to wear off, because her side hurt like hell. Still, she was glad that Kurt had forced her to come here. It had been the rational thing to do – though the _more_ rational thing to do would probably have been to go through the FBI doctor back at the NYO, in which case Kurt wouldn't have been forced into the waiting room. She'd failed to think about that detail when she'd argued so vehemently against seeing the same doctors who she'd seen time and time again. Seeing strangers hadn't made her feel any less freakish… if anything, it had been worse. After all, while yes, ER doctors saw many, many things in their line of work, they did _not_ routinely encounter anyone covered in tattoos the way she was, or who had the scars of someone who had been beaten by a CIA officer drunk with power.

Trying to at least quiet her mind if she couldn't sleep, she attempted to think of something else besides the fact that Kurt wasn't by her side. How had this effort even become necessary, anyway? Twenty-four hours ago – far less than that, actually – she'd been embarrassed by the flowers that Oliver had sent her. She'd been making plans to go to dinner with him. There had been no thoughts of whether or not she wanted Kurt by her side.

 _Except,_ the voice in her head whispered, _that you desperately wanted to_ _ **hide**_ _the flowers, from him most of all._

 _Because it's_ _ **complicated**_ _between us,_ she shot back immediately. _After everything… of course it is._

 _Maybe,_ the voice allowed slowly, _but that doesn't mean it's impossible._

Without realizing it, she was shaking her head, whispering "No" out loud. _I can't,_ she thought, suddenly desperate.

 _Relax,_ the voice told her soothingly. _You don't have to_ _ **do**_ _anything. Just… don't tell yourself it's impossible. Okay? That's all I ask._

 _I'll try,_ she thought, now exhausted all over again. _I can't promise anything._

 _No one has asked you to promise anything,_ the voice told her, once again soothingly. _Just… don't shut him out. After everything the two of you have been through… that's the last thing that either of you wants._

 _Okay,_ she thought wearily, before falling back into a fitful sleep.


	4. From the Very Beginning

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)**_

It felt like _days_ before a nurse reappeared to tell Kurt that he could follow her back to Jane's room. Visiting hours were beginning, by the end of which she would be ready to be discharged, unless something had changed in her condition or the doctor decided that she needed further observation. Though the walk to Jane's room at the other end of the floor wasn't long, per se, it felt as though it took _years_. When he was finally standing in the doorway and the nurse left him there, peering into the room at Jane as she slept, for a second he couldn't make himself go any closer.

Of course, this hesitation didn't last. What he'd wanted more than anything for all the time that he'd been forced to remain in the waiting room was to be by her side, and he certainly wasn't about to squander the chance now. He walked past the room's other occupant, who was staring at the TV that played quietly opposite her bed, over to Jane. There was a chair just beside her bed, and he pulled it up so that he could sit near her head.

Glancing at her as she appeared to be sleeping peacefully, he had the urge to reach out for her, though he knew that he shouldn't disturb her. She needed her rest, after all. The urge to hold onto her, for some tangible evidence that she actually was there in front of him, and that she was alright, however, was stronger than his willpower and his promise to himself to let her sleep, and before he knew it, he'd taken her hand between both of his. Almost immediately she stirred, her eyes fluttering open, and to his immense relief, she smiled at him. He didn't know why, but something felt different. He swore that she hadn't smiled at him that way since… _before_. Yes, it had been a very long time since he'd seen that particular smile on her face.

 _Or, you're just imagining it,_ he reminded himself.

She didn't know what had woken her up at first, as she was stirred to consciousness yet again. It was probably another nurse coming by for one thing or another, she decided. But no, something was different. As she always did when she woke up, she took a status report from her senses before she even opened her eyes. That was when she identified what was different. There was a light pressure around her right hand. Someone was holding her hand.

 _Who could it be?_ she wondered. And then all of a sudden the events of the previous day and night that had been lost to her in her exhaustion began to trickle back, building to a flood within seconds. She was ninety-nine percent sure that it was Kurt. When she opened her eyes slowly, and her suspicions were confirmed, she felt a smile take over her face completely without her even having to try. Indeed, she was so flooded with relief to see him there, and by the fact that he was the one holding her hand, it almost took her breath away.

She hadn't felt so genuinely, simply glad to see him since… When had it been? A very, very long time ago, before all of the mess between them had started. Somehow, she suddenly knew that all that was behind them now. Now, however it had suddenly happened, she felt… lighter was the only way to describe it. Like she could simply be genuine relieved and happy to see him there, and the rest of it didn't matter.

"Hey," he said tiredly, "Are you okay?"

The warmth he could see in her smile intensified – which he hadn't thought was possible – and she nodded slowly. "Yeah," she replied softly. "Doing a little better… just… _sore_ … and tired."

He nodded, knowing that that was completely normal reaction. After all, he'd been shot more than a few times over the years. It didn't really get easier, and he wasn't nearly as good a patient as she was being this time. He recalled checking himself out of the hospital against doctor's orders more than once, actually.

"You look like hell," she told him, suddenly noticing that he looked terrible. She couldn't see herself, but she hoped that she didn't look as bad as he did. "You stayed in the waiting room all night? You didn't get any sleep?"

His smile gave it all away, so he just shook his head slowly, knowing that he wasn't about to lie to her. Not about something so stupid. No, scratch that. He wasn't going to lie to her, period. Not ever again. They had done enough of that.

"No, I… tried to sleep on some chairs, but it… kinda sucked. I didn't sleep," he admitted, looking down to avoid seeing her shaking her head at him, and then back up seconds later because he simply couldn't resist the pull that he felt towards her.

"You should have gone home. There was nothing you could do for me in the waiting room," she told him softly.

He grinned then, and he replied, "Yeah… I knew you'd say that."

"So why _didn't you_?" she asked, shaking her head at him.

With a shrug, he looked away again, then mumbled, "I didn't want to leave you here alone." He didn't look back at her immediately, and when he did, their eyes met in a look of understanding.

 _Okay, so we're on the same page,_ they seemed to be saying to each other. _Finally… we understand each other._

"That was sweet," she whispered. "Ridiculous… but sweet." He chuckled quietly at how ridiculous he _felt_ just then, because she called him ridiculous and he had taken it as a compliment.

 _Maybe it helped that she'd said 'ridiculous and sweet,'_ he thought.

 _Maybe it helped that she's Jane,_ the voice in his head offered helpfully.

 _Maybe,_ he allowed.

"So now you look like hell, because of _me_ ," she said, the smile still firmly intact on her face. She wasn't laughing at him, he knew, and yet there was laughter in her eyes. It made him slightly giddy just to be sitting there beside her, holding her hand in his, which was definitely a new feeling for him.

"You're really good with the compliments this morning, you know that?" he asked her, his eyes dancing happily.

She laughed and blushed, realizing that she'd not only just called him ridiculous but now said that he looked like hell. Which he _was_ , and he _did,_ in her defense, but maybe she wasn't being quiet as tactful as she could be… At least he didn't seem to be taking it badly…

"I'm sorry," she said, pretending to look away sheepishly but then peering back up at him with a smile. "I guess I'm not any better at giving compliments than I am at taking them."

"Wait, which one of those was the compliment?" he asked, pretending to be alarmed, " _Ridiculous_ or _looks like hell_?"

Her smile grew wider still, and he couldn't help but think that she hadn't looked so happy in a long, long time. "Hey!" she protested in mock indignation. "I also said you were _sweet_!"

"Okay, yes you did," he told her soothingly. "That is one compliment and two insults."

"Not that you're keeping score, of course," she said, feigning sarcasm, but grinning. Her tone was warm and the only teasing was good-natured, the kind of banter that up until then they had only been slowly re-learning how to do. It felt as though all of a sudden, it had come back to them.

Leaning forward tiredly, he balanced his elbows against his knees, his hands still holding hers gently as he raised her hand up toward his face. Moving his left hand out of the way so that he could kiss the back of her hand gently, he lowered it again very slowly as he replaced his hand left around hers, holding on even a little tighter than before.

Once again, the words of the nurse from the night before floated through her mind.

 _Oh, honey, that man is so clearly in love with you…_

It probably should have been awkward after that, and she couldn't help but think that any other day out of all the ones since she'd come back to the FBI, it would have been. Except that suddenly, as he sat beside her hospital bed and held onto her hand with both of his, what he had just done – kissing her hand – hadn't felt awkward at all. On the contrary, it had felt… like he suddenly _understood_ just what had been going on in his own head _._

He stared into her eyes, trying to gauge her reaction, and he noticed that her smile didn't falter. Actually, he swore that it actually got brighter, and that her expression grew softer, before his eyes. This, in turn, only made him smile at her even more earnestly than before, letting go of a breath that he hadn't known that he was holding.

 _It's going to be okay,_ he thought in wonder, allowing himself to believe it for the first time in what felt like forever. _**We**_ _are going to be okay. Whatever that means._

A doctor came in then, bustling through the door and greeting both of them, as they looked up in surprise. He asked how Jane was feeling, and they chatted about her injuries. The doctor said that he saw no reason why Jane couldn't be discharged in just a little while, as planned. "Assuming, of course, that you understand that you're going to need to _rest_."

The doctor stressed the word 'rest' emphatically, looking from one of them to the other. Clearly he was already suspicious of whether or not she would take this idea seriously, whether he was just guessing randomly, or he could somehow tell from looking at her. It was also clear to the doctor that, based on the fact that Kurt was holding Jane's hand, especially because he continued to hold her hand as the doctor stood in front of them, that this man was going to have something to say about it, and hopefully, that he would convince her to rest.

Jane nodded solemnly, hating the idea of rest but for once, knowing that she wasn't going to get away with anything else, if for no other reason than Kurt would do whatever he needed to do to make it happen. And though the feeling was slightly uncomfortable to her, knowing that she had no choice, at the same time, she was surprised to find that she _liked_ it, this feeling.

 _That's what it feels like when someone_ _ **cares**_ _,_ the voice in her head informed her. _But don't act like he just started caring about you, or that you didn't_ _ **know**_ _that he's cared about you before now. You know that's not true._ She smiled in spite of herself then, knowing that the voice was right. It had been a blessing and a curse as things had happened the way they had, but she could not deny that she knew it – he had always cared about her.

"She's going to rest, don't worry about that," Kurt informed the doctor, turning to look at Jane as if daring her to contradict him. She could only smile at him in surprise. Maybe, just maybe, she could get used to surrendering just a little control… after all, if it meant feeling like _this_ …

"I promise," she said, smiling at Kurt and then turning to the doctor, nodding at him as well.

"Good," said the doctor. "I'll get the paperwork started." With that, he turned and walked out.

Jane watched the door, suddenly feeling shy about looking Kurt in the eyes. Her smiled had dimmed, though not disappeared, as she'd tried to occupy her thoughts with _something…_ anything really… but she was suddenly coming up blank. When she felt him squeeze her hand between his, her smile renewed itself automatically, and she turned slowly to look back at him.

She wasn't ready to talk about it, whatever this was that was happening between them, but she would if that was what he wanted. When her eyes came to rest on his, however, there were no questions in his face, only a tired smile.

"Looks like we _both_ need to rest today," she ventured, to which he nodded slowly.

"Agreed," he said, stifling a yawn. "I've already informed the office that I'm taking the day off."

Her eyes widened in a dramatic display of pretend shock, as she replied, "Wait… _you_?Take a day off?"

Rolling his eyes at her and chuckling, he just shook his head. "Exactly. You see what you're doing to me?"

Despite his smile and his joking expression, she seemed to take his words more seriously than he'd meant them, and her smile dimmed as her face clouded over. "I'm sorry," she said, looking down at the edge of the bed that lay between them.

"No… Jane," he said quickly, almost amused by her ability to blame herself for just about anything, even something that hadn't contained an ounce of blame for _anyone_. "Hey," he said, but her eyes remained fixed between them, on their hands. Scooting his chair as close to the bed as he could, his knees against the metal frame, he leaned his arms against the edge of the mattress, pulling himself down as far as he could into her field of vision since she'd refused to look up at him.

She smiled just the tiniest bit when she saw what he was doing to get her attention, but her eyes remained fixed. "That wasn't a _criticism,_ Jane," he said, attempting not to sound as desperate as he suddenly felt. "What you are _doing to me_ , if you want to use that phrase, are all good things. Getting me to take a day off to sleep after I've been up all night is something that I've failed to do _far too many times_. I don't usually take care of myself like that. But I know that if I don't, I won't be any help to you. And that's all I want… is to be someone who has the chance to be good to you. And good _for_ you. I've always been driven and focused, just because of… _everything_ …"

He paused, knowing that no further explanation was necessary, then continued. "But you've made me realize that it's not enough. And maybe it took for us to go through so many horrible things, and for me to have to work so hard to get my head on straight again, only to have to worry about losing you _again_ , twice in one day, before I finally realized just how unable I'd be to go on… if…" His voice was cracking now, and he stopped to collect himself.

 _Twice in one day?_ she thought, now confused. _Well, I guess he thought he might lose me when he saw me get shot yesterday… I guess in that moment, it would have been terrifying to watch… I certainly would have felt that way if I'd had to watch him get shot…_ And she knew this first hand, of course, because she _had_ seen him get shot before, right in front of her, of course. _But twice in one day?_

Her mind ran through the events of the previous day as she tried to figure out what in the world the second thing could have been. _Maybe he wasn't thinking of yesterday_ , she thought… _but then what day would it have been?_

And then it hit her, all of a sudden. He wasn't talking about losing her in the way that she was thinking of, as in that she would have died. No, the second way that he'd thought he'd lost her was less… literal.

 _Oliver_ , she thought. She'd completely forgotten about Oliver since the moment she'd hung up the phone with him.

Of course, when it came to Oliver, she'd done nothing wrong. Not that there was a tally sheet between them, _of course_ , but after all, Allie was having his baby… so clearly it wasn't as though he felt like she wasn't _allowed_ to go out with anyone else. It wasn't a matter of _control,_ and she knew that. Until yesterday, it never would have occurred to her to think twice about going out with Oliver.

Her thoughts moved slowly along the timeline, trying to find the parts she had missed. She'd been out with Oliver twice, with a great deal of time in between, and while she had told him that she'd had a good time, and she was pretty sure that she'd said that she'd go out with him again… no plans had been made. Yes, Oliver was a nice enough guy… she had had fun with him, and he'd been incredibly kind and understanding when she hadn't wanted to talk about _so many_ different things. Many of which, she _couldn't_ talk about. Would _never_ be able to talk about, really, or would never _want_ to talk about. At least, not for a very, very long time.

 _And how exactly do you build a relationship that way?_ she wondered.

And then there was Kurt, who knew _all of it._ Who had, as far as she could tell, seemed to have loved her for as long as he had known her. Yes, their baggage was crushingly heavy sometimes, but somehow when they were together, the weight of it, when balanced correctly, felt perfectly manageable. It hadn't always, of course, but it did _now_. The rest of it, the future… well, they could figure it out… if they both wanted to. As recently as yesterday morning, it had seemed impossible. But now…

 _She_ wanted to. And it was pretty clear that he did, too.

Which only left one question, really… but it was a big one: _What now?_

Having been so lost in her own thoughts, she'd just realized that his forehead was lying on top of their three hands, there on the bed in between them. Their hands were still clamped together, her right between both of his. If she'd been able to turn adequately to bring her left hand over, she would have smoothed it over his hair in a comforting gesture… but she didn't have that kind of range of motion. If she _had,_ she probably wouldn't have been there in the hospital at all, of course.

So instead she did her best to squeeze his hand. "Kurt," she whispered softly. Slowly, he lifted his head, and the look on his face was enough to make her feel guilty for putting him through such an emotional ringer when he'd sat up all night, _because of her_. "You're not going to lose me," she told him, smiling even though she felt herself fighting back tears and quickly losing the battle.

He bit his lip then, knowing that she had understood exactly what he'd meant when he'd talked about being afraid he'd lost her twice in one day. _Of course she did_. Their connection was strong once again. Nodding as a fresh wave of exhaustion overtook him, he simply nodded at her. "Good," was all he said.

Mercifully, a nurse came in then with Jane's discharge instructions, and Jane was surprised to see that it was the same nurse who had helped her out of the car the night before. "Good morning," the woman said warmly. "Well, afternoon soon. I hear you're going to be going home in a minute, as soon as we go over a few things and sign some paperwork."

"Yes," Jane replied. "I'm beyond ready."

"I'll bet," the nurse said. Jane noticed now that she was wearing a nametag that read "Jessica," and that Jessica was looking back and forth between the two of them with great interest.

"Okay, so what do I need to know?" Jane asked, eager to get it over with. They spent the next five minutes going over instructions for her care as she recovered, most of which Jane already knew, but listened to patiently, pretending she hadn't heard it all before. She'd never actually _followed_ most of it before, after all. Kurt sat beside her, nodding seriously, and Jane knew that he intended to enforce these guidelines to the letter. Again, she would have been annoyed except that… she actually liked the feeling that he cared enough about her to be so… overzealous.

 _It's not overzealous to want you to get better,_ the voice in her head reminded her. Clearly, this was going to take a while to get used to.

Jessica finished going over her discharge information, and had Jane sign a few forms, and then she was informed that they would take her downstairs in a wheelchair and that Kurt could pull the car up after which they were free to go. Jane nodded, feeling relieved to be leaving, as Jessica left the room to get a wheelchair. Only one thing was still bothering Jane, and that was the uncertainty that she'd ended up with earlier – when it came to herself and Kurt…

 _What now?_

She and Kurt were still smiling at each other, tiredly but happily, when Jessica returned a moment later with the wheelchair. Kurt helped Jane slowly down from the bed and into the wheelchair, and Jessica walked alongside them as they wound their way through the hallways, into the elevator, and then back out through the lobby. When they reached the main entrance, exiting through the door into which they'd come the night before, the sunlight was blinding, and the air was cool but not cold. Considering that it was February in New York, they couldn't have asked for nicer weather.

Kurt left Jane sitting by the curb as he jogged off to get his car. As soon as he was out of earshot, Jane turned to look at Jessica, surprised to find her smiling down at her knowingly. "You were right," Jane told her simply.

Jessica nodded, looking pleased. "I know," she told Jane. "So you can see it now, too?"

"I can," Jane said, feeling happiness bubbling over inside of her.

"You love him, too. I can tell," Jessica said quietly. Jane's smile just widened, as she looked down at her lap. She knew that she was blushing, but there was no reason in the world not to. After all, it was the truth… and dammit, she'd been through enough to have earned any little bit of happiness she could get.

Kurt pulled the car up to the curb then, leaving it running as he got out and walked around to help Jane inside. He looked up at Jessica and smiled warmly, suddenly remembering her from the night before. "Thanks for your help," he told her, to which she nodded.

"You're very welcome," she replied. "You both take good care."

"Will do," Kurt replied, then turned his attention to Jane, helping her to stand up carefully. Helping her into the car even more slowly, attempting to keep her from jarring her injured side. As soon as she was seated, Jane turned to look out the window, smiling happily at Jessica before turning her attention back to Kurt, who was now sitting on her left and helping her with her seatbelt, just as he had the day before.

"Did you eat today?" he asked her, suddenly realizing that he hadn't eaten in… Well, suffice it to say that it made sense why his stomach was suddenly making the noises it was making. The standoff they'd ended up on the day before had started before lunch time, they'd been sitting in the ER at dinner time, and he'd spent half the night in the waiting room. By his estimate, he hadn't eaten for more than twenty-four hours.

 _No wonder I feel like both falling over and eating anything and everything,_ he thought.

"Not much," she replied, trying to remember if she'd eaten anything off of the tray they'd brought her that morning. Come to think of it, she was pretty sure that she hadn't.

"What about yesterday?" he asked her, fairly sure that 'not much' meant no, and that her answer was going to end up being the same as his, just because they'd been together almost the entire previous day.

"Um, I had breakfast yesterday…" she said hesitantly.

"Something besides coffee?" he asked, almost accusingly.

When she scoffed slightly, he knew that that answer was also 'no.' So she hadn't eaten in… what? Two days?

"Jesus, Jane," he muttered under his breath. "And I thought I was bad. At least I had breakfast yesterday…" He turned to glance at her as he pulled out onto the road, and was surprised to see that she was grinning at him.

"Yep, we're quite a pair," she agreed happily, as if he'd been laughing about their matching poor eating habits, and not criticizing them. This made him chuckle in spite of himself, and his mood was immediately lightened. After all, he couldn't change the way the past few days had gone… but much like the past year or so, if it _had_ gone any differently… well, who knew? They may or may not have ended up where they were at that moment. And really, how in the world could he wish away something that had brought him to such a good place? It was impossible.

"And I suppose there's no food in your house? As usual?" he asked her. His tone was somewhere between friendly and accusatory, but he knew that it was borne out of his genuine concern for her well-being.

Rolling her eyes and smiling, she replied, "Guilty."

"What am I going to _do_ with you?" he asked, pretending to be exasperated with her.

She looked thoughtful for a few seconds and then replied, despite the fact that his question had been completely rhetorical. "Knowing you, I'm guessing you're going to park outside the grocery store and tell me to stay in the car and rest, and they you're going to go inside and proceed to buy almost enough to feed the entire team for a week or more."

Enjoying the surprised look that appeared on his face a second later, she added, "What? I still remember that time I had poison ivy…"

Shaking his head at her in amusement, he realized that she was right. Maybe he wouldn't buy _quite_ that much food… though knowing himself and how badly he wanted to be able to assure himself that she had what she needed, her exaggeration would possibly turn out to be truer than even _she_ expected.

"You may be right, I suppose," he replied, no longer even trying to contain the smile that he felt fighting to burst out across his face. When he parked outside the grocery store, just as she'd predicted, on the way back to her place, he was finally able to look at her for more than half a second, no longer having to look at the road. He'd been aching to do just that since they'd left the hospital.

" _Please_ … do me a favor and don't go chasing any criminals while I'm inside?" he pleaded with her, only half kidding. "I know how much you hate being told to stay in the car…" He was alluding back to more than one early case in which he'd told her to do just that, for her own safety. It hadn't usually worked, of course, and knowing her as he did now, he was actually worried about whether she would stay in the car even as injured as she was.

"No promises," she said, her eyes sparkling with laughter.

"No Jane, I mean it," he said, turning more serious. "If you see the bad guys, call me. Do _not_ try and take down any rogue produce thieves yourself. Do you hear me? You're too important to me…" Suddenly the look in his eyes was intense, and she felt herself being first drawn in, and then swallowed up by it, until she didn't _want_ to look away.

She smiled at him earnestly, but still happily, then. "Okay, I promise," she replied. "But hurry up," she admonished him playfully, "I don't want either of us to be the main characters in one of those Snickers commercials where they turn into a different person because they're so hungry… I'm capping my list of identities at three, thank you." She held eye contact with him, as her meaning was transferred silently back and forth between them. _Alice. Remi. Jane._ Then she continued, adding, "And I don't want you to be anyone except Kurt."

He smiled at her sense of humor in the face of pain, exhaustion and hunger, nodding as he chuckled. "Understood," he agreed. "I'll be right back."

Watching him disappear around the corner to the front door of the store, Jane thought back on the last few days. After a few minutes, she expanded it to the last few months. A few minutes more, and she allowed herself to remember back to the beginning, where her conscious memories, as Jane, started – with the bag in Times Square. Those black and white flashes… she tried not to dwell too much on those. It wasn't easy, but as she kept reminding herself, as she kept hearing _Kurt's voice_ in her head, reminding her, that wasn't her. That was Remi. _She_ was not Remi.

No, she was Jane. Flawed and imperfect, used and abused by her own life and by people and establishments that were supposed to have either loved or protected her, if not both.

And yet still, through all of it, she was Jane. Not defeated. Maybe not triumphant, but far from giving up. She had walked through fire and she had made some choices that could have ruined her, and yet… there she was. With a second chance. Few people got so lucky and she knew it.

It could have been the painkillers that were still in her system, or exhaustion, or an overwhelming dose of emotional upheaval that she'd been through in just about any span of time that she could remember, no matter how short or long. There was really no point when she _hadn't_ been going through something.

It could have been one of those things, all of them or none of them, but whatever the reason, she picked up her phone, stared at the screen with a faint smile on her face for a minute, before clicking open a new text to Kurt. After staring at the emoji keyboard for another minute, smiling to herself some more, she pressed the picture of the tiny red heart with the tip of her finger, then pressed send before she could change her mind.

She had literally no idea why she'd just done that, and she quickly turned off her screen, suddenly embarrassed and wondering how he would react. A minute later, she felt her phone vibrate between her hands and she opened it so that she could read the reply he'd sent.

It read, _"This is the sweetest Valentine I think I've ever received. And because we were so busy yesterday, I'll forgive your lateness. Please believe me when I say that there is no one in the world I would rather text a heart emoji to. I hope that's not too serious a declaration for you, but it's how I feel. (Also, I should be out of this store in ten minutes or less. Please tell me you are still in the car!)"_

Laughing out loud, she put her hand over her mouth in surprise for a minute, removing it so she could more easily assure him that yes, she was still in the car.

" _Hey,"_ she typed, _"those Hershey kisses on my desk, in the shape of a heart… that wasn't you, was it?"_

" _What makes you think it was me?"_ he replied.

" _Because you were always the one who was nicer to me than I deserved."_

His reply popped up within seconds. _"You have always deserved more than what I could give you. But I do my best."_

" _So it_ _ **was**_ _you,"_ she said, smiling as she typed.

Another text popped up on her screen seconds later, but he seemed to be ignoring her comment about the Hershey's kisses and moving on to another topic. _"Thank you, Jane. And not just for staying in the car."_

She knew somehow, despite the complete lack of a tone to base her assumption on, that he was talking about a lot of things, all at once. Seconds later, a tiny red heart, just like the one she'd sent him, popped up in a separate bubble on her screen, and she bit her lip, forcing herself to breathe steadily, a smile spreading across her face.

" _Hurry up, Weller,"_ she typed back.

" _Why? What's up?"_ came his reply.

" _Because… no reason. It's just better when you're here,"_ she told him matter-of-factly _._

Staring at his screen, having stopped in the middle of the aisle he'd been walking down, he couldn't help but grin. Little did he know, he was wearing the same grin on his face that she wore as she sat in the car waiting for him. It shouldn't have surprised either of them, of course, not after everything they'd been through together.

 _Maybe… just maybe… It's all going to be okay,_ she thought in amazement.

Just like he had told her from the very beginning.

 _A/N: There was no good end to this, and I desperately wanted it to keep going… however, I promised myself I would post the whole thing today, Valentine's Day, so it has to end, and this was the point I picked. (And there's the fact that I'm currently in the middle of two other, long multi-chapter fics, and I can't afford to start another one) So this is it. I hope you've enjoyed this "short" story as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)_


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